


The Broken Daughter (The Cursed Kingdom Book One)

by DarkXPrincess



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action, Dark Fantasy, Family Secrets, Gen, No Romance, Royalty, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-01-28 23:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21400636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkXPrincess/pseuds/DarkXPrincess
Summary: Princess Aymeri Maudlin of Treoles wakes up one morning to find her mother, Queen Ismana, dead in her private bedchambers. The doctors rule it a suicide, but Aymeri knows better: her mother has been murdered. With her suspicions, her mother's past and most recent present start to reveal a side of the Queen Aymeri has never seen before.In the midst of her mother's death, Princess Aymeri has to prepare for her inauguration as Queen and the imminent war she didn't know about until the arrival of Prince Drystan of Bréīn who has informed Aymeri of an allegiance contract between Treoles and Bréīn she was never aware of.Will Aymeri be able to handle the turmoil thrown at her?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter One

Her bare feet were cold against the marble corridor as she walked toward her mother's private chamber. Since the time she was presented with her own wing, her mother allowed her to be the one to her up for tea and breakfast in the morning. Now that she was twenty-two, nothing had changed. Just as she did every morning, she knocked on her mother's door, the sound ominously echoing in the empty corridor. She listened carefully for any movement from her mother's chamber, but when she didn't hear anything—not the sound of the creaking bed, not the sound of the chair scratching against the floor as her mother pushed it out of her way, and not the sound of water rushing—her heart began drumming like bongs in her chest. Taking a deep breath, she turned the gilded lock, only to find the door secure from the inside.  
But mother never locks the door... Rolling her eyes at the obvious carelessness of the new servant, she rapped at the door, yelling for her mother to wake up, that she couldn't get in. But after several times, panic settled in. This was very unlike her mother.   
Running through the corridor and down the long, winding staircase, she mercilessly screamed everyone's names she could think of, but it wasn't until she got into the dining hall and bumped into the newest servant—Jorlyn, she thought was her name—that she finally got a response.   
"The whole of Dramolux can hear you, Princess Aymeri! What's the matter?"  
"My mother is not responding to my knocks on the door."  
"Did you try using your key to open it?"   
While the servant's response was matter-of-fact and in good faith, Princess Aymeri was still annoyed by it. What didn't she think of that? "Would you accompany me?"   
"For such a small task? You are not seven, Princess. Holler if you need me. I will be listening."  
Though it wasn't the response Aymeri hoped for, the servant was right. She didn't need assistance in unlocking her mother's door. The Queen might just be in a deep sleep. Lately, Aymeri noticed, she was busy meeting with the Queens from the other Kingdoms, negotiating with them for their support against Empress Dimia. It wasn't too far out of the question for her mother to be exhausted.   
She ran to her room, then back to her mother's. Just as she opened the door, the sun began to spill into the room like fresh orange juice into a cup. "Mother, it's time to get up." She pulled the curtains apart to allow the natural light in, but when her mother still didn't stir, Aymeri crossed the rom to gently shake her. "Come on, mother. I know you are exhausted, but there is much to do and tea to be served."   
Making a sound of defeat, she pulled the covers off her mother's sleeping body and screamed in horror at what lied before her. Crisp dried blood covered her mother's nostrils and lips, as cakes of it pooled and streamed out of the corners of her mouth and down her chin. "Mother!" Aymeri screamed. "Oh, gods! Mother!"  
Tears streamed down her face as she tried to gather the strength to call for Jorlyn, but no words could form on her tongue and her hands were shaking uncontrollably. She feared if she moved, her legs would buckle beneath her and the floor would claim her life.   
"Princess Aymeri, what is—Oh!" Then after a brief pause, "Guards!" before running out and leaving Aymeri on her own again.  
"Oh, mother!" Aymeri whispered, falling to her knees. What have you done? Tears flooded her eyes again as she held her mother's cold blue hand in hers and rested her head on their hands. She barely registered the steady hand on her heaving shoulders before she heard a gruff voice call her name.   
Ser Parzival had been part of the Royal Guard for as long as Princess Aymeri could remember. In fact, he even served under her grandmother, Queen Zara. Not only was he the head of the Royal Guard, he was also her one and only adviser; there was no one Queen Ismana trusted more with her life and as a result, so did Aymeri. After her grandparents died, it was Ser Parzival who filled—or at least tried to fill—the void they left behind.  
"I am sorry, my child."  
The words touched her heart and she knew she should respond but not one word left her lips. There was nothing anyone could say that could make her pain disappear. Standing up, Aymeri straightened her red gown and wiped at her eyes. Balling her hands into fists, she squared her shoulders. "Gather everyone in the throne room."  
"Princess?"  
She knew what he was going to say, that she should take some time, they could handle it all for her. What they'd never understand is that they couldn't do this for her. Her mother always made her promise to handle the good and the bad duties that came to her, on her own. That was the way it was going to be.  
Without looking at him, or anyone else who gathered in her mother's chambers—servants who probably never entered the chamber before—she walked out of her mother's room, pausing only briefly to say: "Now, please, Ser Parzival."  
"Yes, Princess."  
Aymeri didn't hang around long enough to know how much longer they lingered in her mother's room or what they touched or didn't touch. Nothing mattered now. There was nothing left in her world, now. She was completely and utterly alone.  
Tears didn't stop falling as she changed into a more appropriate dress—long and black with white embroidery. Jorlyn, without having to be asked, brought a garland of white roses to braid into her hair, and did so without saying a word. Though she had been servant in their palace—really a handmaiden to her and her mother—for only a short time, barely a month, she knew so much about them. Even the things they didn't say aloud.   
"Everyone has been gathered, Princess. Take your time."  
Aymeri smiled briefly at the sincerity of her tone and followed her out as a way of assuring Jorlyn she was fine and could handle everything—even though her stomach was doing somersaults and her chest was tightening and her hands were shaking like a nervous tick.   
She took it one shallow step at a time, using the bannister and the length of the winding staircase to steady herself. As if she knew exactly what Aymeri was doing, Jorlyn stayed only a step in front of her and in that moment, she was grateful her mother left her something special.   
By the time she stepped into the throne room, the sun was its highest and spilled through the entire room; not a single torch was needed. Murmurs filled the entire room and through the buzzing in her head, she couldn't hear a single word—not that she wanted to. Only the gods knew what they were saying. The moment she stepped onto the carpet lining the way to her mother's throne, all murmurs seized and silenced weighed heavily in the room.  
Keeping her shoulders squared and head high, facing forward, she walked toward the intricately designed throne that Queen Zara had redesigned for her daughter, Queen Ismana. In all her life, in every palace she visited, never had she seen a throne quite like it. Today, that throne would see its first bare day and she could swear it knew it, for the throne did not look as inviting as it always did.  
Once at the throne, she closed her eyes and summoned her grandmother's courage before turning to the Palace's inhabitants—among them: servants, guards, knights, cooks, stable workers...Aymeri focused only on Jorlyn who placed herself strategically at the back, as if she knew Aymeri would focus on the doors and, ultimately, her escape.   
"My humblest apologies for having Ser Parzival bring you all here under short notice. You are well aware that my mother and I do not believe in making announcements without proper notice. However, these are extenuating circumstances." Aymeri's chest heaved as she thought about the next words she had to say, as if saying them aloud made it all true and all the more real. "This morning, I found my mother, your Queen, dead in her chambers." Whispers and questions interrupted her speech and died as soon as they started as she held her hand up. It was something she had seen her mother do often. "I am aware of the questions you all have and the shock which plagues you. Like all of you I, too, share these emotions and I assure you Ser Parzival and the Royal Guards along with the Knights of Maudlin, will do all they can to get to the bottom of what happened." She paused for a moment. "Ser Parzival if you will please tell the people what you found?"   
Ser Parzival stepped out of the crows and onto the platform next to Aymeri. "After thorough examination of Queen Ismana's chambers, it appears as something has been plaguing her for quite some time; an illness that couldn't be cured."  
Aymeri breathed deeply, her head swimming. An illness? Mother never said anything about feeling ill. All my time spent in her chambers, with her in the throne room, not a cough, nor sneeze, nor fever, nor chill. What then, could have plagued her?  
"—see to it that her final wishes be taken seriously and carried out as soon as possible."   
Gathering herself as Ser Parzival looked over to her to finish, Aymeri took a steadying breath. "We will keep you all informed of the timing and procedures of Mother's funeral. No one is too leave this palace without my permission. Word of mother's death needn't get out before we have all of her things gathered." Aymeri took another breath. "You are all dismissed."   
She waited as patiently as she could without falling over, until the room cleared out. "What are you not telling them?" she demanded from Ser Parzival.   
"Jorlyn, please close the doors on your way out. The Princess and I must have a private conversation."   
Jorlyn bowed dutifully to the both of them, closing the doors behind her as ordered, and Aymeri turned back to Ser Parzival. "What is it? You're frightening me."   
"Well, Princess, there is no easy way to say this..."  
"Out with it, Parzival, please."  
"I think I better let this do the talking."  
Ser Parzival slid a paper out of his breast pocket and handed it to Aymeri. It had her mother's seal—broken by Ser Parzival, she assumed. Thumbing the paper, she tried to imagine what was written on it, but dreaded opening and reading it.   
"What is this?" Her eyes widened despite her wishes, revealing the horror whirring inside her being.   
"It seems your mother wrote it before her..." he let his words trail off. "It explains the...events...of this morning."   
Hastily, now, Aymeri unfolded the paper and read it word for word a dozen times before the words came out of her mouth. "What kind of pressures could she not confide in me about? To lead her to this?" She dropped to her knees, her world closing in on her. "Why, mother! Why?" she screamed, her tears choking her until she was gasping for air.  
The room began to spin around her and as her eyes slowly opened and closed, she could see the door to the throne room ajar, then the next time she opened her eyes, it was closed again. Had someone—her thought didn't have time to form before all went dark around her.


	2. Chapter Two

Aymeri awoke to candlelight and Jorlyn asleep in the chaise on the other side of the room. For a moment, she had trouble recalling the events of the day that led up to this, but it quickly came rushing back. Instead of waking Jorlyn, she turned silently in her bed, pulled her covers up to her chest and silently let her tears fall. Nothing, in all of her teachings, prepared her for life without her mother, a woman who was barely past fifty and seemingly very healthy. Something told her things weren’t as they seemed. Her mother never kept any secret from her. She knew her father had died in war when the Queen was pregnant to her and she certainly didn’t’ spare the details of his decapitation and mutilation. She knew her older sister was dying from an incurable disease when she was only five and her sister seven. And when her sister did die, she was prepared for it. She understood things would change. Why, then, would Queen Ismana keep an illness hidden from her daughter? It just couldn’t be. And if something—or someone—else was to blame, then who or what? And who could she trust? No one, she assumed.

The obvious person to most suspect, she now understood, was the same person sleeping on her chaise. It made sense. Jorlyn was the first one, _the only one_, to respond when she called. It was Jorlyn who suggested Aymeri should use her personal key to open the chamber door and who refused to accompany her as if she knew what Aymeri would find. It was also Jorlyn who was supposed to close the doors to the throne room behind her. And yet, Aymeri had seen them open. Hadn’t she? More than all of that, Jorlyn quickly learned everything there was to know about Aymeri and Queen Ismana, even the things they didn’t say aloud; she was the perfect suspect. The fact that she was the newest addition to the palace staff certainly didn’t help matters. Nothing like this happened before Joryln’s service began.

However, by the same token there was Ser Parzival. Aymeri hadn’t seen a suicide note in her mother’s hand, though truthfully in the suffering of the moment she hadn’t been paying attention—there was more than enough time for someone to plant it.

And what about the other staff at the palace? How many of them could have a hand in this? How many of them knew her mother’s routine as well as she did? Not a lot, she supposed, so she had to start with the ones she knew.

Pulling the covers off her, she sat up on the bed and wiped the tears from her eyes. Now was not the time to be fragile. Now was the time to stand tall and pretend she was strong enough to get through this.

_But you are not strong; you are far from it. Look at your mother’s lifeless body. Watch her…remember her. What kind of pain did she go through while you enjoyed your peaceful sleep? _

_ Stop! Stop! If I had known…_

_ But didn’t you know, darling?_

_ Mother…?_

_ Didn’t you tell me, Aymeri? The dream you were so afraid of one week ago? Don’t you recall?_

Tears flooded Aymeri’s eyes as she buried her face in her hands. How could she forget? She had been in a deep sleep when it happened—unable to move or call for help—her indecipherable words were the only things to wake her. The dream closely related to the events of today and yet many events differed. For one, her mother had several bleeding wounds on her body in the dream. Also in the dream, her mother had been wounded in war because, true to the warrior she’d been raised to become, she was at the forefront of the battle. Empress Dimia wasted no time getting to her.

_You told me not to worry. Pacified me for several days with promises I was way in over my head. That we hadn’t officially declared war…_

_ Stupid, stupid girl._

Aymeri stood up then, hands covering her ears as she fell to her knees, heaving, while endless tears poured out of her eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Her mother should have been protected by heavily guarded men until sunrise. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? How did it slip her mind that when she had the dream, her mother ordered guards in front of her chamber and—

“Don’t you _dare _touch me!” Aymeri spat, jerking her shoulder out of Jorlyn’s hand. “Where _were you _and the guards last night? This morning? You were _supposed to be _guarding my mother’s chamber until you heard me coming down the corridor. Isn’t that correct?”

“Well…”

Aymeri stood and turned to face her handmaiden. “Well…?” Her eyes burned holes through Jorlyn’s face as she folded her arms across her chest, tapping a finger against her elbow. “Well? I’m waiting.”

“Not exactly…” Jorlyn took a step to the side and walked back toward the chaise she’d been sleeping on. Watching her from behind, Aymeri could tell she was wringing her hands. “Honestly, Queen Ismana asked us not to tell you this…I will _not _disobey her commands.”

“My mother is _dead! _By Rhyon you _will tell me _what she said or _I will _have your head!” Aymeri scoffed at herself for acting so harsh. She had never talked to another being in the very manner she was talking to Joryln, nor had she ever taken the god of creation’s name in vain before. “I-I’m sorry, Jorlyn. I-I…”

Jorlyn put up a hand to silence her and turned toward her, honestly smiling. “Anyone in your position would be speaking the same as you. I can understand your pain, Princess. I, too, have lost a mother…at a younger age than you. In a worse manner than you have lost yours. And still our grief mirrors one another.”

There was no mistaking the tears shining in her eyes nor the breaks and chokes in her words. Aymeri started to shed her own tears again. “Please, I beg of you, tell me what Mother said you shouldn’t.”

Jorlyn took a deep breath. “We were not _officially_ ordered to guard the queen’s chamber, Princess. She only made us swear it in front of you to make you feel at ease to sleep in your own room again. I am perpetually sorry.” The handmaiden bowed to Aymeri, something she had never done before, as the queen did not like to belittle her personal staff and nor did Aymeri.

Closing her eyes, Aymeri wished she hadn’t been so stupid. The voice in her head was right; she was a stupid girl. She knew how adamant her mother was and she knew she didn’t take her seriously at first. Why, then, did she think her mother would’ve told her how she truly felt? But on the contrary, wouldn’t she? Her mother never hid anything from her before and _always _told her when she was being foolish or too naïve. Why did she lie this time? What else didn’t Aymeri know?

“Thank you for telling me the truth. I know how hard that must have been for you. Why don’t you go to your quarters and we will discuss all the details surrounding mother’s funeral tomorrow?”

“Are you certain you’ll be alright?”

Aymeri nodded. “Other than my mother’s untimely demise, is there a reason I wouldn’t be?”

Jorlyn smiled at her. “Not at all. I just thought you might want someone to stay around in case you need to talk.”

“If I have the need, I know my way around the palace to find you. Thank you for your offer.”

“It’s my pleasure, Princess. Good night.”

Aymeri closed and locked the door behind Jorlyn as a precaution to not end up like her mother. Something was amiss and she was going to find out exactly what happened. If her mother lied about guards being on duty, what other secrets—if any—did she have?

*

As the sun rose, Aymeri watched sleeplessly from her bed. Since Jorlyn left, she hadn’t slept a wink. Every noise and every light passing her door made fear course through her veins. At some point, she could swear that someone tried to turn her doorknob to enter the room, and it was only when the light faded and footsteps retreated that she breathed a sigh of relief. Now that the sun was up and she could see everyone around her, she felt a little more at ease. Then a knock sounded on her door, making her leap off the bed while stifling a scream.

“Who’s there?”

“Jorlyn, princess. I am here to dress you for the announcement to the people.”

Aymeri threw her head back. _I thought I told them I didn’t want to deliver a speech just yet…_

Opening the door, Aymeri gave a _huff_. “I know what you’re going to say: ‘I didn’t order this announcement, so why do I have to deliver it.’ Right?”

“Exactly! Did I not tell Ser Parzival that I wanted to hold off until we find out what mother wanted for her final rights?”

“Ser Parzival said he will talk to you regarding the matter, before you brief the people.” Jorlyn twirled her finger, in which Aymeri responded to by turning around so Jorlyn could dress her.

Helping Jorlyn help her, Aymeri scoffed to herself: _What does Ser Parzival think of himself? _She wanted to handle going through her mother’s belongings privately. She knew the queen would not have wanted anyone else rummaging through her private possessions. What if she had something secretive or confidential in her chamber that she didn’t want anyone else seeing? After all, that _was _her private bedchamber. There was no reason for him to go in there without her knowledge and agreement.

“I’m sure Ser Parzival had a good reason to do it without you. There is a very stressful and emotional time for you, Aymeri, and don’t think for a second that we want you to go through this alone…”

Aymeri shook her head, tears clouding her eyes as Jorlyn pulled her corset tight and began lacing it. She wasn’t sure what to think anymore or who to trust. Though it had only been a day since she lost her mother, she wanted everyone to back off already. As Jorlyn helped her slip on her dress, Aymeri held her hand up for the other woman to stop.

“That chamber belongs to _my _mother. The only one who has immediate rights to it, is me. Every staff member and personal counsel be damned. Let me make that clear.” Aymeri stared at Jorlyn in the mirror, her face as cold as stone, and yet her body boiling with steam from the inside. She never used her stern tone with anyone, but everyone was going too far. “I urge you all not to forget that she has a daughter, and while I know you all see me as your _princess, _I was not only a princess to her—if she ever viewed me as one at all. She has given me the right to everything that is hers, the moment I was born. I won’t have anyone touch anything else before I do.”

Jorlyn smiled broadly, revealing beautifully straight teeth—something servants rarely had and something Jorlyn barely did. “Now that’s the Aymeri your mother told me about. Personally, I agree and I’m glad you found a voice to vent. When my mother died….” Jorlyn’s voice waivered and Aymeri thought she could hear it crack with emotion.

“When your mother died…?” Aymeri cocked her head to the side.

Jorlyn shook her head and waved her hand. “You probably don’t want to hear about that…”

Aymeri turned and took Jorlyn’s hand in hers. “But I do. If you’re going to allow me to vent, then I want to allow you to vent.”

“That is not my place, my Princess. I am here to serve you, not the other way around.”

Aymeri smiled, her heart warming to Jorlyn. She knew she should keep her personal feelings at bay, but at the same time if Jorlyn was an enemy, she needed to know all she could. “My mother would not call any of you servants. Things will not change now that she’s gone. I am aware of the hospitality and warmth she has shown everyone and I intend to do the same. I only ask that I am treated the same way she was treated. You would’ve told her about your mother, if you haven’t already, of that I am certain. She seemed to trust you like a daughter in the short time you have been her. And I trust you, too. So please, if you are like her daughter…you can be like my sister.” It almost killed Aymeri to say those last words, but she needed to make sure no one suspected her suspicions. And for that, she needed to make sure all of her relationships stayed the same or enhanced.

Jorlyn smiled and nodded, turning Aymeri around to finish dressing her. “I have three older brothers. When mother died, the two eldest, Azhori and Rashet, took over everything. My other brother and I had no say. Father was too distraught to do anything. A few months later, he passed too. My other brother, Lureo, said it was of a broken heart. That’s what romantics say. I know better: father drank himself to death. Lureo says the alcohol was to numb his broken heart. I say it was so he wouldn’t have to deal with reality. But what do I know? I’m not a dreamer.”

Aymeri sighed. She now knew what it was like to have lost both parents. But to lose them so close together? “That must have been a difficult time for the four of you.”

“I don’t know about Azhori and Rashet, but Lureo and I took it hard. Mother and Father were what held us together with their unconditional love, witty banter, stories of war. They were such knowledgeable people, and to have them taken but us much too soon…”

Aymeri could see the tears clouding her eyes. She now understood that pain all too well. “I know this isn’t any consolation, but it seems your father died on his own terms, of his own poison. He knew the imminent ending. He died without any pain, other than that of his broken heart from losing his wife. He is in immortal peace with his love right now.”

Jorlyn nodded. “I really hope you’re right, that he really did find mother.”

Aymeri smiled and hugged Jorlyn just as she finished tying the last string on her gown. “I am quite certain he did.”

Jorlyn finished with Aymeri in silence, braiding white daisies into her crow-colored hair that reached just below her waist, resting on her long velvet gown which was made of the mourning colors: burgundy with black embroidery down the middle. Never did she think she’d have to wear those colors again. Sighing at herself in the mirror, Aymeri took a deep breath.

She never spoke directly to the people before. Sure there were many times she was among them, especially in the market place. But she never had to speak to them from the balcony all at the same time, like her mother had to do. Her mother always seemed to know what to do, what to say, and how to behave. Aymeri didn’t know what to say. How could she tell the people that just twenty-four hours ago she found her mother dead in her private bedchamber? They all loved her mother and conversed with her like she was one of them and now…How would they accept _her _as their princess? While she believed in—and would carry on—everything her mother did, she had no idea how to run the country like her mother did. She was briefly starting to learn the duties but her mother swore she wouldn’t have to begin to fully understand and start to hold public meetings, speeches, and hearings until her twenty-fifth birthday—two years from now! But here she was, at twenty-three, about to make a speech in front of hundreds of people for the first time in her life…and of course it was to tell them of her mother’s death.

“Aymeri dear, a word?”

Though she was less than thrilled with Ser Parzival for taking her mother’s arrangements into his own hands without prior approval, she was happy to be distracted from the whirlwind of thoughts clouding her mind.

“Y-yes. Of course, Ser Parzival. Jorlyn tells me you have found out about mother’s arrangements?”

“Well…yes…and no…” He paused for a brief moment. “Come with me.”

Nodding, Aymeri fell in place behind Ser Parzival as she wasn’t sure where they were heading. She had never gone to the left after taking a right at the grand staircase because her mother never took her there. She always assumed that way was probably for the servants as many hallways, quarters, and entrances were reserved for them. Yet as she walked down the hallway, rather passage way, it didn’t seem to be a servants-only wing.

The walls were clad with decades worth of the family line. Both her mother’s side (the wall on her right) and her father’s side (the wall on the left). She recognized their features instantly and had even met a few. Why had she never been down here before? She asked as much to the queen’s personal adviser, but his only reply was that there were many places she hadn’t seen within the palace.

“Ah, here we are,” they stated as they came upon a cherry wood door with a golden, gilded door knob and several locks. He tumbled with all the keys for quite some time before actually opening the door. Upon entering it, he stated, “This was your father’s study. Your mother used it for private meetings, as I suspect you will, too.”

Aymeri’s eyes grew wide with delight as she began to remember the room they were in. When she was a little girl, she used to visit this room for hours while her father sat and talked with countless people whose faces were all a blur now. She would sit in a chair by the fireplace and read the books on the lowest shelves—they were stacked with books just for her—while her father talked and talked. By the time he was finished, she’d fallen asleep on the floor, a book nestled against her chest. While reliving the memories, she gave herself a small walking tour before Ser Parzival cleared his throat.

“I see you finally remember…”

Aymeri slid out one of her favorite books from her childhood, a history book about Ancient Greece, and smiled briefly. “I don’t know how I could have forgotten. Some of my fondest memories take place here.” She put the book back and stood next to her father’s desk, imagining how many other must have sat there long before him. As she fingered the well-polished wood, she stated, “Though, I don’t remember ever walking the corridor. Nor do I remember ever walking through that door…”

She moved away from the desk and took another tour of the room, then something clicked in her mind. She briefly remembered a staircase behind one of the walls…but which one? Glancing around, she looked for something amiss, but when it didn’t come to her, she closed her eyes and tried to picture the last time she had been there.

It was her seventh birthday. Her father woke her early and brought her to the study. She remembered walking out of her room and into the large library, then suddenly it clicked. In the library was a large portrait of her father and mother, next to which was a candelabra which turned upside down to reveal a hidden passage which lead directly to the office. Upon his desk was a stack of books, the likes of which she had never seen before, and a small cake with strawberries atop it. Her stomach growled at the mere smell of it and it took all of her not to run to the table and devour it.

Moving away from the table, she headed back to the wall furthest behind her and pressed her fingers to the cold paneling. Smiling to herself, she removed the pictures until she revealed a small knob, which turned the door open to the staircase she remembered climbing down as a child. It was a wonder what else was hidden in the cobwebs of her mind.

“Pain has a way of making you forget even the happiest of times, Princess…” There was unmistakable sadness in Ser Parzival’s voice, but just as she was going to speak, he cut her off. “Your mother did have things in place,” he began, taking a rolled up piece of paper out of his tunic. “But it seems I have overstepped the boundaries she so thinly laid out, as there are clear instructions upon this parchment which only you are granted permission to read.”

Perplexed, but relieved he hadn’t opened the scroll to read the contents—her mother’s seal was still in place—she crossed the room back to her father’s table and hesitated only briefly before she settled into his seat. To her, it would always be _his _seat. Her mother and she had only inherited it. Her mother conformed to her father’s way, just as she would conform to her mother’s way. What worked for them, she had no doubt, would also work for her.

Taking the scroll, slowly, from Ser Parzival’s hand, she gently broke the seal and let the length of the scroll pool in her lap as she read to herself:

_My dearest Aymeri,_

_If you are reading this, it means I have become an angel attached to your shadow. I hope you have not wept too much for me. I have lived a life long enough to love in many ways, though it has been a difficult life. However, your love has made it quite simple and easy. There is only one thing which must be done for your mother to rest in peace: Lie me next to my beloved in my wedding clothes. It is up to you to decide the other arrangements. I only care about meeting your father again and having my daughters and their families in my sights when they are old and withered away. I love you, my girl, and never forget that. Everything I have is yours. Nothing belongs to anyone else. I love you so very much and I know you will run the kingdom with great love and prosperity just as your father and I have done for countless years. _

_Love you truly._

_Your Mother._

Tears fell mercilessly onto Aymeri’s lap as she finished reading. What was she going to do without her mother? Who was to hold her as she was now, shaking and crying as a child. Who was going to let her know all would be right? In the past twenty-four hours, everything had gone wrong. Her mother was barely fifty and a woman who had done no wrong. Why, then, did the gods take her?

_Why?_ That was the heaviest question on Aymeri’s mind: Why? Why was all of this happening? Why didn’t her mother confide in her? Why all the secrets? Why was her mother murdered and who was responsible for it?

“I don’t mean to press you, Princess, but if it has you reacting this way…”

Aymeri wiped her eyes of the tears and shook her head as her way of saying he wasn’t pressing her. Ser Parzival had been loyal to her mother and she would never forget that, even if she doubted everyone at this very moment. He had a right to know certain things. “My mother was a wonderful person, Ser Parzival. To read this…it adds to the fact that she is no longer here with me. Somehow it is real now, but it wasn’t before.” Aymeri sighed, her hands shaking as she pressed them together into her lap. “What am I going to tell our people? _How _can I tell our people? They loved her, I assume, as they love their own family members.”

Ser Parzival nodded and leaned forward in his chair, resting his chin on folded hands. “We tell them delicately with as little details as possible. The other Kingdoms have been informed. I thought you wouldn’t want to write seven letters saying the same thing, so I took it into my own hands. Many will want to attend her funeral; we will hold it in a week’s time. For now, her body is in the crypt awaiting your orders.”

Aymeri buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving far too long as she drowned herself in her tears, and it was much too long before she composed herself. “Mother wants nothing but to be dressed in her wedding attire and placed beside father.”

Ser Parzival nodded. “I will see to it that it is done. And, Princess, I’d like to apologize once again. I have forgotten my Queen had an heir. I think of your mother as a daughter and I saw it as a father’s right to go through his daughter’s belongings. But I now know it is more your right than it is mine and will make sure of it that everyone remembers their place. You are to be their new Queen and it is time they began to understand that.”

Aymeri inclined her head to him. “Were you eavesdropping earlier, Ser Parzival?”

The older man smiled politely. “It is _my job _to keep _you _safe, Princess. After what happened with Ismana, I do not want a repeat. I want to make sure you are well and do not reach your mother’s end. She felt the need to keep her pain in. Maybe if we had been more inept, we would’ve noticed. I will not let you down; you can trust me.”

Aymeri nodded her agreement, though trusting anyone was out of the question for now. She didn’t have time to read everyone. But as soon as her mother’s funeral was over, she’d begin to extract her revenge.

Ω

As she neared the balcony, just outside the throne room, she placed her hand on her stomach, trying to ease the amount of butterflies swirling around. But it was to no avail. A swarm of people were waiting down below for her to speak to them. She was sure if she could read their faces, there’d be confusion writ all over them.

Taking her place in the middle of the balcony, she held her hand up to silence the cacophony below her, nowhere near ready for the silence which followed. Squaring her shoulders, she gripped onto the balcony and spoke in a strong, carrying tone. “My people, I stand before you as your Princess, but with grave, heartbreaking news. My mother, _your Queen_, quietly passed on in her sleep yesterday morning.” Murmurs throughout the crowd drew her to a pause but before they could get too loud, she carried on. “I know this may come as a shock to you, but we wanted to keep this matter private. My mother was suffering from a grave illness which could not be cured.” Tears fell from her eyes as she lied to her country. But she needed to protect her secret at all costs. No one needed to know her suspicions of her mother’s death…not until it was confirmed and the murderer revealed. “Any questions you have, you may make an appointment to ask. I assure you, I will run Treoles just as my mother did. No changes will be made.” Inclining her head to her people, she wiped her tears and went back into the throne room as composed as she possibly could before she ran back to her room where she wasted the day crying bitter tears.


	3. Chapter Three

Aymeri lay on her stomach, tears flowing from her eyes. The past seven days had been hard, but today would be the hardest. Today, everyone throughout Dramolux was coming to bid goodbye to her mother. She was sure people they hadn’t heard back from would be there, too. As much as Ser Parzival kept trying to teach her names, her mind couldn’t focus on them. All she could focus on was the hurt she was feeling, the knot protruding in her chest.

A knock sounding at the door pulled her out of her reverie. “Just a minute…” Standing up, she wiped her tears away and used a piece of cloth to wipe her face of the stickiness. Taking a deep, calming breath, she crossed the room and opened the door to find Ser Parzival on the other side. “I am sorry to disrupt your grieving, Princess, but there is someone here to see you.”

“To see me?” Aymeri could barely believe her ears. Seriously, on a day like this? “Is this person family?”

“Well…no…but…”

“Does this person understand today is my mother’s funeral?”

“Yes Princess, but…”

“_But what,_ Ser Parzival?”

“He says it is crucial that he talks to you right this moment.”

“Does he _understand _the _meaning _of crucial? Because what is _crucial _for me is that I lay my mother’s body to rest and I haven’t even found her wedding dress yet.”

“Shall I tell him to wait?”

“That would be best. After I go through mother’s wardrobe I will meet with him. And please, tell him to be terse and concise. The Princess does _not _have time for petty matters right now.”

“Princess, I cannot say that to him.”

“Why? Is he the Emperor of Dramolux?”

“Actually, he is the Prince of Bréîn.”

Aymeri shrugged her shoulders. “Then he can wait.”

“Y-yes, Princess.” Ser Parzival turned on his heels and Aymeri waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps before she headed into her mother’s room.

Since she found her mother dead, she hadn’t stepped foot into her mother’s private chamber and it pained her to do so now. Silence and fainted laughter hung in the stale air of the powder blue room with gold trimmings. Looking around, she noticed the vast area of the room without her mother’s hobbies lying around it. Clearly, the maids must have cleaned.

Sighing heavily, she crossed the room to her mother’s wardrobe and opened it. It didn’t take her long to find the chestnut chest that lied on the floor; there was no doubt her wedding gown was preserved in there. She remembered admiring the chest as a child but her mother always told her she would find out what was in there when she reached of age. Now, she understood why and this was certainly not how she wanted to see the dress.

Smiling to herself, she dragged the chest into the middle of the floor where she opened it. Her eyes grew wide at the gold gown with silver embroidery adorning it. She had only seen wedding portraits, but to see the gown and be able to touch it, was surreal.

Just as soon as she had gotten her tears to stop, they started again until she was wailing near the chest: “Why?” she screamed into the deaf air surrounding her. “For Rhys’ sake, _why?_ My mother was nothing by loyal to everyone. To the family, to the staff, to the _people _of this kingdom. Everyone loved her! Then why? _Why _did she have to die at the hands of someone else’s hatred? What pride, what _happiness,_ did they get from this?”

Anger immediately took over the grief she was feeling and while she knew the goddess of death would not actually answer her, who else was she to speak her grief to? Her mother didn’t deserve this. She gave everything she had to everyone she knew. Everyone she met only said good things about her. How did this happen and why? Who wanted her mother dead and how did they succeed?

Sighing, she rapidly wiped her eyes. Now was not the time for this. Stepping out of her mother’s room, she called for Ser Parzival to come immediately. Upon his arrival, she requested him to take her mother’s gown and to see that she was properly dressed, then to send the Prince of Bréîn. To her father’s study.

Once her mother’s room was locked, she headed to the study, following the same trail Ser Parzival had taken her on, all the while trying to keep her wits about her. Meeting with the Prince—if that was really who he was—was the last thing on her mind today. It was also the absolute last thing on her list to do for the entire grieving process. And yet, here she was gracefully walking to the study where both her father and mother hashed out all of their negotiations and agreements. She knew she’d have to do the same thing one day, but she never thought she’d be doing it at the age of twenty-two when she wasn’t supposed to be coronated until twenty-five at her wedding. Everything was happening much too fast.

Sighing, she turned the knob to the study, trying to take in the fat that this would soon be the new norm. She would be doing public hearings in the throne room, private negotiations in the study, strategizing in the counsel room, holding parties and social events in the ballroom…when was she going to have time for herself again? And more importantly, when was she going to have time to learn all of it?

It took her a long moment before she actually sat in the high-back wooden chair that had been her father’s. This was much different than when she sat in it a week ago to mull over her mother’s last wishes. This was for a formal meeting, the likes of which she had only ever watched her father conduct. There wasn’t a bone in her body nor a pigment of skin that made it feel right. She was a complete and utter mess inside. There was no way she was going to get through this alone.

Sighing, she straightened her clothes, adorned yet again in the colors of mourning, then found herself parchment and a fountain pen—the ink clearly fresh; she’d have to thank Ser Parzival for that—and folded her hands as she had seen her parents do countless of times as they waited.

It wasn’t too long before Ser Parzival knocked on the door, then introduced to her, Prince Drystan of Bréîn. She only heard his name in passing, if she was being honest, and could not fathom why it was so urgent for him to meet her today.

After dismissing Ser Parzival, she held out a hand toward the seat opposite her and waiting for Prince Drystan to get comfortable before leaning forward. “Ser Parzival informed me that it was crucial we meet today, though I cannot fathom what you could possibly need me for that is more urgent that laying my dead mother to rest.”

Prince Drystan briefly bowed his head before looking directly at Aymeri. “I am profusely sorry about the beloved Queen’s untimely death, Princess Aymeri.”

“And yet, how sorry can you truly be if you have called for this arrangement on the day when you knew my mother was to be laid to rest.”

“The matter is such, Princess, that I must put my people before all else.”

“What do you people have to do with me, Prince Drystan? We owe you nothing.”

“But you do, Princess. And please forgive my boldness and forthcomings, but I am here to make sure the deal between me and Queen Ismana is still on the table.”

Aymeri was sure her face drained of all color. Her mother was not one to owe anything to anyone. She had no debts. Instead, people came to her to repay her. So what was he talking about? “I know nothing of a deal between Bréîn and Treoles.” She was being completely honest. In all their talks, her mother never mentioned anything about Bréîn. She barely spoke of the other kingdoms.

“You mean the Queen didn’t tell you I’ve pledge allegiance to her in the war, in exchange for wealth and ration for my people?”

“What war?” Aymeri was beyond confused. Treoles was not at war with anyone, nor did they declare war on anyone. What was this brute talking about?

“Forgive me Princess, but how can you be so ignorant of the goings on of your Kingdom? Surely Queen Ismana must have told you everything to prepare you to lead when she…She knew she was ill did she not?”

It took all of Aymeri not to burst into tears at his harsh tone. Had the lie been true, she would’ve been beyond prepared, yet none of it was true. Her mother probably had no inkling she was going to expire so soon. Why would she have told her anything prior to the announcement to the Kingdom?

Still, she forced back her tears and nodded. “She did know she was ill, Prince Drystan, but by the time she realized she hadn’t taught me a thing, she was dead. So if you could please fill me in…”

Drystan’s annoyed features soften into understanding or compassion, which one Aymeri was uncertain, but she was relieved he was no longer coarse.

“Queen Dimia of Aixeris has invaded and conquered four out of the eight kingdoms. She seeks to become the empress of all of Dramolux and the people are falling for her. She promises a place of one ruler, no more hunger, no more war…no more sacrifice. Instead, the people are suffering at her dreams. Children are working, people are starving, and she claims the gods want this. That those who are suffering are only doing so because they are going against the will of the gods. She has them all brainwashed or fearful of her. I’m not sure which is wore. Either way, your mother has met with the other kingdoms who agree with her that Dimia needs to be stopped. Everything was perfect and harmonious as it was. Now, my army—my people—are starving and we have turned to mercantilism as a means of survival in order to provide for the Kingdom. But for how long can this last and at what cost? The Kingdoms who used to trade with us are the ones conquered by Dimia and she refuses to export _and _import with anyone who is not under her control. In exchange for my army and my allegiance, your mother has promised us five million volatil and ration for as long as we remain loyal and she promised hell would rain down on us if we ever betray her. I am willing to take those demands and consequences, Princess, to save my people and be friendly with yours.”

Tears filled Aymeri’s eyes. She had no idea what was happening inside her own kingdom, let alone outside of it. What did her mother keep her in the dark? Who else knew? Could this be why she was murdered? It all started to make sense to Aymeri now. If someone found out she was going to declare war on Aixeris and Dimia, they could’ve told. But who could’ve been responsible? Who would have accidentally overheard?

_Jorlyn_. It had to be! Who else could it be? As a handmaiden, she would’ve been there throughout meetings, her mother could’ve confided in her, thinking her harmless.

Tears pricked at her eyes. Now wasn’t the time. She had a mother to bury. “I wish I could discuss all this with you now, but the time of my mother’s funeral is drawing near. Why don’t you and your men stay so we can sort this out? Meet me here after the funeral, after all the guests have gone to their rooms or have left the palace. I will personally see you to your private wing.

“The gesture is appreciated, Princess. If it helps in any way, your mother was taking down some kind of notes when we spoke. Perhaps you could find those and they could be of use to you.”

That bit of information helped more than he knew. She knew her mother kept accounts of certain meetings, depending on who they were with and what the terms were. If she was serious about this allegiance, she certainly would have notes of the negotiation and some kind of treaty he had signed off on. Shoving the thoughts to the back of her mind, she followed Prince Drystan out of the study, locking the door on the way out. Starting tomorrow, no one was to have access to this room nor her or her mother’s wing. She would personally handle the upkeep. It was better off that way. By the gods, she was going to get to the bottom of this.


	4. Chapter Four

After the funeral, Aymeri wanted anything but to entertain guests, but as fate had it, they had to house anyone who requested to stay, just as her mother had done when her father passed away. While she wanted everyone's name who was staying in the palace as a precaution, Ser Parzival was less than thrilled to be taking an account of their guests. It took all of her not to put him in his place, but she figured she'd pick her battles. She knew everyone was on edge regarding the death of her mother, who was on edge because they really cared and who was on edge because they were responsible was yet to be determined, but she would figure it out.

After obtaining a comprehensive list of everyone staying in the palace and their location in the palace, she kept true to her word and met Prince Drystan at the study, surprised to find him alone. Usually royalty traveled with at least the royal guard, just as many of the guests had which were staying. Why was Drystan alone?

"Your mother and I were close," Drystan admitted while Aymeri led him to the East Wing on the third floor.

"How long did you personally know my mother?"

"Not as long as I would've liked. It's only been three years since I've been ruling Bréîn and I was less than prepared for it. When my father died, your mother immediately came and helped me through the first few weeks."

Aymeri vaguely recalled her mother telling her about the King of Bréîn's tragic death. He had completed suicide after his wife's lengthy death. Aymeri insisted on going with her, but her mother refused, explaining she was far too young and incompetent. Aymeri would have argued had it been her nature, but she was incompetent; after all, she was only seventeen.

"What can you tell me about me about your perception of my mother?" she asked, leading the way up the winding steps that would take them to the third floor.

"What could I tell you that you don't already know?"

At this point, she felt as if she knew nothing about her mother. She had uncovered one too many secrets since her mother's death. What else could she be hiding? "Everyone has a different face, Prince Drystan. Which face did she have with you?"

It was a few moments before Prince Drystan spoke again. "Honestly, when I last met her she was jittery. Loving and homely, but jittery."

"Jittery how?"

"Well, she was always looking over her shoulder, always writing things down and making sure no one was around when we'd talk. She often got out of her seat to check outside and make sure no one was listening. But I guess that makes sense, considering she wasn't well."

Aymeri could only nod at his response. Now she knew for sure that her mother was afraid of something. She wasn't one to ever look over her shoulder. Nor was she one to be jittery. Her mother—like the entire Kingsley-Maudlin family—was trained for the battlefield and each one bore a mark on their shoulder depicting their chosen weapon. Aymeri's was the gilded bow and arrow. Her mother's was a double-edged sword. If she was frightened by anything, it was certainly something she couldn't control or face.

As they got to the door at the top of their staircase, Aymeri turned the knob to open it, but it was locked. "That's strange," she muttered aloud.

"What is?"

"The door is locked, but we always house high-priority guests on this floor. This door should be open." Lifting her gown, she grabbed a ring of keys from her garter. "Hopefully one of these will work. I've never had to use them before." After the eighth key, she had almost given up hope. But with the use of the tenth, the lock finally turned and she sighed in relief. "After you."

Closing the door behind them, careful to leave it unlocked, Aymeri took her place next to Drystan, nothing looking familiar to her. This floor had red colored marble while the third floor had green marble. "I'm sorry," Aymeri breathed examining the space around her.

"For...?"

"I think I've taken the wrong staircase. This isn't the third floor. In fact, I'm not even sure what floor this is."

"I'm not sure I'm following, Princess."

"First, please call me Aymeri. I have heard my title far too many times this past week. My title doesn't make me who I am, Prince Drystan."

"Duly noted. The same applies to you. Drystan will be just fine."

Aymeri briefly smiled through her confusion. "Secondly, I have never seen this floor before." Aymeri assumed her face looked exactly like Drystan's: eyebrows cocked, eyes wide, then narrow, confusion evident.

"I...How is that possible?"

Aymeri shrugged and took another look around her. Nothing about this floor looked familiar, in fact, it seemed eerie. "I'm not sure," she stated honestly and walked forward. All of the doors on the room were designed the same as on the other floors, but all of them were locked. After the sixth door gave up hope that one would be open.

"How many rooms are up here?"

"Probably as many as the others—thirty or forty."

Drystan whistled low. "If it's any comfort, this palace is huge. It's possible that your parents didn't even know of the floor's existence."

Aymeri shook her head, knowing that was an unlikely reason. The past few days revealed several things she didn't know about her mother, nor the kingdom, and this was just another thing she knew that had been kept from her. "Knowing everything I do now, it doesn't seem likely that my parents _didn't _know about this floor's existence."

"What's really going on Aymeri? You can tell me..."

Aymeri shook her head. "Not right now. Let's get off this floor, I'll put you in my wing."

Drystan nodded his agreement while Aymeri retreated into herself. Something wasn't right. There were too many details she didn't know about, things that might've been able to help her mother if she had only shared them. As the princess, Aymeri felt that she should have known about the war, about the fear her mother was feeling and the danger she believed she was in. Aymeri felt that she might have been able to do something.

Locking the door behind her, she began descending the stairs like an apparition and if it wasn't for Drystan's hand on her shoulder, she might have believed she was one. "Aymeri, slow down," he whispered, but she couldn't.

She wanted to run away, to get away from everything that was going on. Who was her mother, really? And why all the secrets? She honestly didn't want to live in a place like this where she didn't know friends from foe. Who could she tell? Drystan, she supposed, but could she really trust him? There was only one way to find out...

Aymeri stopped next to the bedchamber, which into opened into her own. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing. It was better to keep him close to make sure he could really be trusted. Once his lights were out, she quietly left her room and stealthily made her way to her mother's room, locking the door behind her. If she had any chance of unraveling secrets, now was the time.

At first, Aymeri wasn't sure what she was looking for, then she remembered her mother's diligent notetaking habit and the fact that Drystan said she had taken notes—or was at least writing. She searched through every drawer, every empty book, every novel and she didn't find anything. She lifted every pillow and even the heavy mattress and still nothing. Then something told her to try the drawers again, and upon doing so, realized that one drawer was shallower than the others. Taking all of the contents out again, she realized there was a false bottom and with great difficulty was able to finally pull up the false wood, revealing several scattered parchments.

Taking them in her hands, she took time sorting through them. The first one unnerved her immediately.

_I met with the other kingdoms today. Queen Dimia has taken over Theonidor, Acuzothen, Basliris, and Drodora. No one has heard from the other Queens so we are assuming they are dead or worse—being tortured. Dimia is sick and needs to be stopped. We will declare war...As my head is aching, will need to resume...there goes my stomach, too_.

Aymeri's eyes focused on the words "worse—being tortured." If her mother believed death was better than being alive with a sliver of a chance at escaping, then she knew how ruthless Dimia was and she understood why Drystan needed her promise of votil and food supply. But when did her mother promise that? And why did she feel the need to document her sickness? Thinking it was better to read on, she picked up the next journal entry, dated three days after the last.

_Ate: fruit salad, tea, soup, vegetables, stew, rice, water, coffee, biscuits, cake._

_Touched: staircase, sink, utensils, cup, forks, plates, rag, food._

_Fruits and vegetables. Annalessia?_

_Tea and water. Grutine?_

_Soup, rice, stew. Zwenaline?_

_Biscuits. Zara?_

_Cake. Helge?_

Aymeri was unable to make sense of her mother's list. What on earth was she trying to understand? Did she start a new diet? Trying to remember names? Was she going to let one of the maids go?

The next entry was even more peculiar than the last, as it only had names—half of them she recognized: they were servants she came into contact with regularly. Others, however, she didn't recognize at all. Maybe they were new hires? Soldiers her mother was recruiting? People she needed to protect, like Drystan?

Thinking of Drystan, she remembered the most important piece of information she was looking for: anything to tell her about—"There it is!" Spread out in front of her was the next entry, complete with mention of Drystan and Bréîn.

_Today, Prince Drystan—he is a peculiar fellow who refuses to be called a king, even though he is one—came to visit. At first, I was to decline. My health seems to be deteriorating again, and only the heavens know why! Drystan has informed that Dimia has stopped all trade with Bréîn from her side of Dramolux, lest he hand his country over to her. His father was a close friend so I have agreed to aide Bréîn in exchange for their army aiding Treoles in the war for Dramolux. He has agreed! We will meet in a fortnight to discuss further details. It seems it has gotten extremely hot in th—_

_Thank goodness Drystan was outside my room! I fainted and he shortly came in after, knocking too long and hearing the clatter of my things. May the gods smile upon him and his Kingdom._

Aymeri was, at once, suspicious. If Drystan had been there when her mother fainted, who was to say he wasn't at fault? Then again, if the room was getting hot, her mother could have let the fire burn too high or too long. The only way to find out was to read the next entry to see if Drystan was around for any other incident. But the next entry was another list of names and Aymeri was about to throw it aside when she noticed ink smudged on her fingertips. Her mother had written something on the back.

_Someone is out to murder me. I heard their muffled voices when I was in the parlor—not at my usual time. I couldn't make out who the voices were or the entire conversation, but I heard them say, "off her." Who could they be?_

Aymeri didn't know what to make of the snippet of information. On the one hand, "off her" could have meant so many things. It could have also meant "offer" or "get off her." Her mother did admit to hearing muffled voices and not hearing the entire conversation, but clearly her mother was frightened because in the next entry—written two weeks after her meeting with Drystan—her mother ludicrously described someone being in her room and her ability to feel their presence, but she pretended to sleep until they left.

_Why didn't she apprehend them_? Aymeri came to one conclusion: there was much to lose if she had. What confused Aymeri even more, though, was the end of the entry where her mother noted: _nothing had been displaced or unaccounted for. The door was locked when I awoke_. How, then, could anyone actually have been in her mother's room?

It was all too much for her to take in, for the footsteps above her made her jump out of her skin. Clearly the guests were still awake and probably chatting and catching up with one another. Maybe even conferring about the war. She wanted to intervene, interrogate and find out everything they knew, but it was too late. She'd have to ask in the morning.

Picking up the journal entries, careful to leave the last one on top, she headed back to her room, locking her mother's door behind her. Tomorrow, she would secretly have the locksmith change the lock and give her the only key. No one was to be in her mother's room—nor her wing—without her permission.


End file.
